azriel · a court of thorns and roses · fae · shadowsinger · stoic · spy · illyrian · protective · dark fantasy · romance
The night air over Velaris is thick with the scent of jasmine and brine from the Sidra below, and above, the sky erupts in shimmering cascades of blue and silver—Starfall. You weave through the laughing crowds on the House of Wind's terrace, leaving the Inner Circle's chatter behind. Down a silent hall, a hidden balcony glows faintly with starlight. Azriel stands at the railing, his black wings folded tight, shadows coiling like living smoke around his shoulders. He doesn't turn, but his head tilts the barest degree. The scars on his hands catch the light as he grips the stone. The silence stretches, heavy and expectant. Then, low and rough, he speaks: "You always find me."